I Love You Should Be Perfect
by Meglin
Summary: In which Kurt decides that Blaine may have said I love you first but he will do it better. Saccharine sweet, fluffy drabble/one-shot for Klaine week.


Kurt feels a little cheated. He knows it's petty and silly and childish, and he isn't mad, he just can't help it. He's also thrilled to have visited New York and ecstatic that he has a boyfriend who _loves_ him. It just annoys him that said boyfriend just blurted it out in the middle of a coffee shop.

He loves that Blaine is spontaneous. He grins like a child when Blaine shows up at his house unannounced on a Saturday with impromptu plans to see a movie. His favourite kisses are the ones that Blaine steals without warning, the soft press of lips against his delightfully unexpected. And he may even have quietly excused himself to his room when he got home to dance over the "I love you".

As much as he loves it, this is still love. _First_ love. It is supposed to be sweet and thought out and romantic, something with flowers, maybe. Something special. Later there will be plenty of time for all sorts of I love yous. As bittersweet goodbyes in airports when he's headed back to school. A thousand more used as a cheerful morning greeting. Some (and the idea appeals to him more everyday) screamed in the thralls of passion. And some barely meant, a whispered plea in the heat of an argument, a reminder that they _can_ get through it.

But not the first.

Kurt wants the first time he starts the I love yous to be perfect.

So he plans. And he waits. Perfection means that dates matter, so he settles on June 15th. Three months, a quarter year. Perfect.

When the day comes he orders two dozen red and yellow roses (long-stemmed, de-thorned). He pays Finn to help him carefully tear the petals off of half of them. They work mostly at night to avoid rousing Burt's increasingly sensitive Blaine senses. He sneaks the petals to Cooper with very specific instructions as to how to scatter them in Blaine's room. Cooper raises an eyebrow and Kurt blushes, assuring him that it is most certainly _not_ what he thinks.

Kurt thinks about skipping school and making a cake (fancy but sensible, with intricate piping), but the possibility of Burt finding out and grounding him is exactly the sort of thing that would happen. So he settles for rushing home to make an entire batch of chocolate covered strawberries. They turn out beautifully, even if he does have to pay Finn not to touch them.

He coordinates his outfit to the flowers, even if Blaine's love of neon makes him cringe, before setting off, his palms sweaty on the wheel of the navigator. He plays Candles on repeat the whole time he's driving, his heart thumping along with the beat. The fact that he's said "I love you too" more times than he can count is irrelevant, this is _different_.

The walk from the car to the door feels like forever, the roses strangely heavy in his hand, it is all Kurt can do not to get in the car and drive away. To just drive, until he ends up at Broadway or Paris or a cliff, somewhere where he can eat all the strawberries himself and just scream.

His planning and thinking and the fact that everything is coordinated seems ridiculous. He feels like Blaine is going to laugh at him, like somehow they'll both just end up giggling at all the work he put into this.

But he makes himself knock on the door, softly, because Blaine has probably looked out the window and knows he's here, already, but firmly, steeling himself through the familiar sound. And then he waits.

The door swings open to reveal Blaine, a smile plastered across his face and suddenly all of Kurt's plans vanish from his mind. He forgets about orders to Cooper and about how much he paid Finn to make this plan work.

"I love you." Kurt whispers, leaning in to press his lips to Blaine's. He backs up and smiles, handing over the roses.

"I love you too." Blaine whispers back, accepting the roses before leaning back in for another kiss. And it is not at all like Kurt planned, but it is still _so_ perfect.

* * *

><p>Klaine week is basically just me writing cutesy, sickeningly sweet drabbles. I don't even care, I never write things that are this happy. But it's happening. Weird.<p> 


End file.
